


Left Behind

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Other, Rape, Serious Injuries, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Suicide, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: In chapter 6  of 'To Define Suffering', Skywarp and Starscream intervened before Motormaster ever got a chance with Sideswipe... but what if that wasn't the case?(see end notes for the explicit summary regarding Sideswipe's injuries and aftermath. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS!!!! THIS IS NOT A NICE FIC!!)





	Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grotesgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grotesgi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [To Define Suffering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694737) by [fuzipenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin). 



            “’bout time, little bot. Mmm… you and I are gonna have a good time,” Motormaster rumbles, looking Sideswipe over with greedy approval. “I’ve been thinking about all the best ways to make you scream, shareware.”

            “Oh, that’s so awesome you’re capable of thought; good for you,” Sideswipe replies, because he can’t not. Humor is his defense mechanism and he’s going to need all the  protection he can get. Motormaster and Onslaught are pretty much the same size and while Onslaught isn’t exactly kind, he’s a saint in comparison to the Stunticon leader. This is definitely going to leave Sideswipe bloody.

            Motormaster snarls and reaches out, Sideswipe stiffening in preparation for either a blow or a grab. He’s not disappointed. Motormaster uses one hand to take Sideswipe by the throat and lifts him into the air with barely any effort. Sideswipe’s pedes kick at the other mech, ineffectually glancing off Motormaster’s thighs.

            “You know what?” Motormaster says, sneering up at Sideswipe. “I’m sick of your smart-aft comments. All you’ve done is backtalk everyone, even Megatron. Well, I think that it’s time we fixed that.”

            Motormaster squeezes, his fingers and thumb digging into the sides of Sideswipe’s throat. His intake registers pressure and then outright pain as all the components in his neck grind against one another. Something creaks alarmingly and then a main fuel line pops, wetness running down Sideswipe’s chest. His optics roll back into his head and he claws desperately at Motormaster’s hand as his voice box slowly crumbles.

            He dimly hears shouting from behind him, Bluestreak and the others’ voices raised in anger, but Motormaster doesn’t stop. He just keeps squeezing, until Sideswipe thinks his entire head will pop right off his body. In the back of his mind, Sunstreaker is frantically calling his name, no doubt sensing Sideswipe’s distress.

            Just when he’s about to pass out, he’s dropped to the floor. Sideswipe lands on his side, coughing and choking and feeling liquid trickle down his chest and back. He has maybe two seconds before he’s grabbed again, violently shoved onto his front and aft hiked up high into the air. A moment later Sideswipe grinds his face into the decking and tries to scream as a spike even larger than Astrotrain’s is shoved inside his already damaged aft port.

            “Frag, _yeah_ , shareware!” Motormaster calls out over the raspy gurgle that is all Sideswipe’s voice box can produce. “You’re all good and warmed up for me!”

            He plows into Sideswipe, over and over, his hands the only thing keeping Sideswipe from collapsing completely to the floor. Every time Motormaster thrusts deep, energon squelches out around his spike until it runs down the backs of Sideswipe’s thighs in rivulets. It’s agonizing, and he claws at the floor, vision blurring at the edges.

            It’s worse than the triple changers. Even though Astrotrain and Blitzwing had been rough, Motormaster is far more violent. He doesn’t have to coordinate his thrusts with anyone else and he uses Sideswipe’s body as if it’s just a warm, wet hole, not caring about the damage he inflicts in the process.

            Tears stream from Sideswipe’s optics and he doesn’t care anymore that Bluestreak is seeing him in pain. At this point, Sideswipe’s more worried that Bluestreak will end up witnessing Motormaster outright killing him.

            Motormaster starts grunting, his fingers denting Sideswipe’s hips so badly that the right joint is completely crushed. Sideswipe loses all motor control in the leg, but not the sensation of pain. No, that just grows and grows and all he can do is endure it and maybe go a little insane while doing so.

            _What’s wrong? What’s happening? Sideswipe, what is going on?!_ Sunstreaker demands as all of Sideswipe’s blocks turn to dust. He hates that he can’t spare his twin this, but Sideswipe’s too overwhelmed to maintain that protective barrier between them.

            Especially not when his very being is telling him to retreat to the safety of his brother’s presence.

            Unable to scream out loud, Sideswipe wails into the bond when Motormaster brutally pulls him back into a thrust at such an angle that it punches his spike straight through the floor of Sideswipe’s valve. More energon spatters into the puddle beneath him, Sideswipe’s HUD angrily throwing up error messages and warnings for low fuel.

            He open-mouth pants against the flooring, optics fixed and unseeing. Motormaster pumps into him three more times, each thrust tearing into Sideswipe’s valve more and more until what feels like lava splashes against all his raw sensors. Motormast huffs and groans as he humps Sideswipe’s aft, shooting his load into the new channel he created.

             Before Sideswipe can even begin to hope that it’s over, Motormaster pushes him flat and pulls out, only to shove into his valve an instant later.

            Sideswipe can’t keep up with the damage at this point. Even though his valve is probably better equipped than his aft port to handle someone well endowed, he’s still not able to accommodate Motormaster’s length. The head of his spike rams past Sideswipe’s gestational tank entrance, utterly destroying the rim. Sideswipe feels a rise in pressure that quickly bursts, and he deliriously wonders if Hook will get as annoyed as Ratchet does when his repairs are almost immediately undone.

            The puddle beneath him expands and he slides across the floor every time their bodies slam together. Motormaster growls in irritation and grabs hold of Sideswipe’s shoulders, pulling him back in an arch so extreme that a strut in his middle back cracks. The pain of it is quickly eclipsed when Motormaster’s next thrust punctures the coolant tank in Sideswipe’s lower abdomen.

            His HUD buzzes with more alerts and Sideswipe wonders what kind of modifications Motormaster’s spike has. There has to be _something_ because Sideswipe had been built tough but right now it’s like he’s made of tissue paper.

 _Sideswipe?? Sides, Sideswipe,_ talk _to me!_ Sunstreaker demands, their bond vibrating with his effort to push himself as close to Sideswipe as he can get.

            _I can’t… I can’t…_ hurts _… it hurts…_ Sideswipe sobs when Motormaster gives his shoulders a mighty yank, tearing the right arm from its socket. Sparks fly up from between the edges of ripped plating, burning Sideswipe’s face when they alight on his cheek. He hurriedly closes his optics even though being blinded is the least of his worries right now.

            _What hurts? Who’s hurting you?_

 _Every… everything!_ Sideswipe cries, reeling with the devastating sensations. _He’s pulling me apart!_

            His back can’t take the abnormal position any longer and the fractured strut breaks completely, the sound and the pain of it resonating through every fiber of Sideswipe’s being. He groans in pure agony, barely noticing when Motormaster overloads again, his spill seeping between Sideswipe’s internal components. When Motormaster pulls out, Sideswipe’s pretty sure a piece of his gestational tank goes with him.

            The world turns upside down when Sideswipe is rolled onto his back, Motormaster crawling up him and plopping down onto his belly. His armor gives under the weight, sinking in to press against his fuel pump and threatening to burst it. The edges of Sideswipe’s broken vertebral strut grind painfully against one another.   

            “Look at me. Look at me!” Motormaster demands, slapping Sideswipe’s face so hard it dislocates his jaw.

            Sideswipe struggles to open his optics, only one of them obeying his command and even then, his vision flickers in and out.

            Motormaster leans over him and smiles beatifically, grinding his still hard spike against Sideswipe’s abdomen. “You Autobots… so weak… you’re already so broken,” he says. “I haven’t even had all my fun yet. What else am I supposed to use?”

            The Stunticon suddenly stills and he cocks his head to the side, gaze assessing. Then he presses his palm against Sideswipe’s shoulder and strokes down his chest.

            “I bet your spark is double shielded. Maybe even triple shielded,” Motormaster muses, optics fixed on Sideswipe’s hood. “Why don’t we see?”

            Everything in Sideswipe’s head goes frighteningly quiet. There’s only one way this is going to end. He’s flirted with death so many times that it’s surprisingly easy to recognize when it’s staring him straight in the face.

            _Sunstreaker…_ Sideswipe says calmly, mentally shoving himself as far away from his own body as he possibly can. _Sunny, I’m going to die._

            Motormaster punches the side of Sideswipe’s chest and when the plating buckles, he grabs the edge of it and starts pulling. It’s torn away within seconds and Motormaster repeats the action with the opposite section. A cool breeze winds its way through Sideswipe’s thoracic components and his spark shrinks in on itself.

            _What?! Sideswipe, no, no you’re not!_ Sunstreaker shouts at him, sounding panicked and scared. _You’re hurt, but this is just one more bad injury for Ratchet to fix. Just hang in there._

 _Ratchet’s too far away,_ Sideswipe replies quietly, mourning the fear and desperation pouring off his twin. _And Motormaster seems pretty intent on shoving his spike through my spark._

            Even as he says it, Motormaster presses two of his knuckles down against Sideswipe’s spark housing. It takes him some effort, but the triple enforced plating eventually buckles and finally gives away, compressing his spark within its crystal. Sideswipe’s frame starts seizing in reaction to the damage the fragile core sustains.

            Motormaster scoots forward, tilting his hips to line up with the hole he made. Gripping his spike at the base, he rubs the head against the tear in Sideswipe’s spark housing, chuckling darkly.

            “Ohhh, this is gonna be good…”

            _No… no, no, no, NO!_ Sunstreaker cries, digging metaphorical fingers into Sideswipe as his spark registers foreign heat and pressure.

            Oh, so much pressure. He can’t ignore this like the rest of his body and he feels something deep inside him untether itself.

            _No, Sides, you have to stay. Don’t you_ dare _leave me,_ Sunstreaker pleads as Sideswipe starts to drift.

 _Let me go,_ Sideswipe says, using all the strength he has left to wiggle within his twin’s grip _. Let me go, Sunny, I won’t take you with me._

 _I’ll go anyway! Sideswipe! Sides, no!_ Sunstreaker screams as Sideswipe pulls free, the distance making it easier than it normally would be.

            His spark feels like it’s going to implode and there’s nothing left anymore but that buildup of agony and a lingering regret. They were supposed to die side by side on the battlefield, not like this. Never like this.

            _I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry, Sun-_

 

\--

 

            Bluestreak screams himself hoarse and it takes four mechs to finally wrestle him to the ground. His hands and arms are soaked in energon from where he had clawed at anyone between him and Sideswipe. The stench of it lingers in his nasal passages; he doubts he’ll ever stop smelling it.

            He doesn’t care. He’s consumed by rage and helplessness and he watches Devastator rip Motormaster away from Sideswipe through enough tears that it’s as if he’s watching a movie from far away.

            A horror movie.

            The worst kind of horror movie.

            As Devastator breaks apart, a startling number of other ‘cons swarm Motormaster, taking him down. Bluestreak barely pays them any mind, focused on watching Hook frantically start to work on Sideswipe. The urgency with which he moves is somewhat surprising, but Ratchet had always spoken of Hook with a grudging respect.

            “Is he… is he still alive?” Bluestreak calls out, struggling against the knee pressing into the side of his throat.

            “Yes. But I don’t know for how long,” Hook says grimly, not even glancing at Bluestreak. “Scrapper, help me carry him back to Medical.”

            Bluestreak moans in despair when Sideswipe is picked up and one of his arms simply detaches and falls to the floor. Energon pours out of him in multiple places, and Bluestreak doesn’t see any flickering sparklight from the hole in Sideswipe’s chest.

            “Please… please help him… please…” Bluestreak murmurs, watching Sideswipe get carted off, looking like so many pieces of scrap. “Oh, Primus… please…”

 

\--

 

            Ratchet has witnessed more than his fair share of death. It’s hard enough to deal with, but what he sees the loved ones go through afterwards is so much worse. He thought he had seen every type of reaction, but nothing prepares him for Sunstreaker crumpling where he stands and keening like his entire world is ending.

            “Sunstreaker!” Ratchet exclaims and falls to his knees beside him. His hands hover over Sunstreaker’s frame even though he knows there are no actual injuries for Ratchet to treat. “Is it Sideswipe?”

            “… he’s hurt. Ratchet, he’s hurt so badly _,_ and I can’t keep hold of him!” Sunstreaker replies, looking at Ratchet with an expression of anguish. He slowly starts rocking back and forth, his left hand coming up to press against the armor covering his chest.

            “Hurt, but not dead?” Ratchet presses, taking Sunstreaker’s free hand and squeezing it hard.

            Sunstreaker’s mouth moves, but he can’t seem to produce any words. A quick scan reveals that Sunstreaker’s spark is severely stressed, but still strong, giving Ratchet hope.

            Any other time one of the twins had been badly injured, they had been right next to one another. And Ratchet had never doubted that if one of them offlined, the other would immediately follow from the sheer backlash. But the current distance between them… would that mitigate some of the agony from a broken bond if Sideswipe died? Would Sunstreaker be able to survive it?

            Would Ratchet be able to reach Sideswipe before any of that mattered?

            “Then he has a chance,” Ratchet says firmly, staggering to his feet. He turns towards the door and starts sprinting towards it.

            Ratchet has no plan, other than to get to Sideswipe as quickly as possible. He doesn’t care if he has to turn himself over to the Decepticons… he refuses to lose both twins, mechs he cares for as if they were his own.

            “Ratchet? Where are you…?” Prowl demands but he’s cut off by a sound even worse than Sunstreaker’s first spark-wrenching cry…

            … the sound of a frontliner’s standard issue blaster discharging at short range, immediately followed by a quiet thud.

            Ratchet stumbles to a stop next to an exam berth and he grabs hold of it, his entire body shaking. His strength leaves him as he hears First Aid’s distressed exclamation and Ratchet sinks to the ground, head bowed.

            “My boys…” he whispers, horrified. He curls his arms around himself in a paltry form of comfort. “Oh, my boys…”

            Everything but the sound of his own quiet sobs fade away and Ratchet loses himself to the pain of being the one left behind.

 

~ End 

**Author's Note:**

> Motormaster violently rapes Sideswipe's aft causing enough damage to puncture through to his valve. When he rapes Sideswipe's valve, he rips into Sideswipe's gestational chamber and other abdominal internals. He manages to break Sideswipe's back as well as rip an arm out of the socket and kills him when he tears into Sideswipe's spark housing and proceeds to essentially fuck the hole he made. Devastator forms and intervenes, but not before Sideswipe is gravely injured. He dies and Sunstreaker isn't pulled along with him, but chooses to commit suicide.


End file.
